I Believe In Johnlock (One-Shots)
by UpAllNightForLoki
Summary: Bunch of Johnlock one shots. Fairly new to this pairing but it's slightly become one of my favourites. Just like Destiel Took me a while to understand that pairing also. Anyways, enjoy!
1. You Could

**_~ Set after the Reichenbach Fall. Sherlock is cooped up in a small apartment, hiding out until he feels the need to come back into John's life. He's constantly having flashbacks of Moriarty's words, wishing they would go away. Meanwhile John, still stuck in the reality that Sherlock is truly dead, takes some drastic measures. Is Sherlock going to be too late? ~_**

_"You never felt pain, did you? Why did you never feel pain? We always feel it, Sherlock."_

Sherlock's weakened body writhed under the comfort of his bed sheets, a whimper escaping his lips.

_"BUT YOU DON'T HAVE TO FEAR IT. Pain, heartbreak, loss, death, it's all good."_

"No," Sherlock mumbled, his features contorting from fear to anger. _ "Come on, Sherlock. Just die why don't you. One little push and off you pop. You're going to love being dead, Sherlock. No one ever bothers you."_

"Stop it," he growled, clutching the sheets close to him.

Sherlock lay in a deep sleep, but the flashbacks and nightmares still rotted in his mind. Those words like venom being spat out of his nemisis' mouth. 

_"Mrs Hudson will cry and mummy and daddy will cry, and The Woman will cry, and John will cry buckets and buckets."_

"John," Sherlock mumbled softly.

_"You're letting him down, Sherlock. John Watson is definitely in danger."_

"No!" Sherlock yelled, his eyes snapping open as he locked around the room, his chest rising and falling quickly.

Beads of sweat dripped from the detectives matted brown curls. He hadn't properly washed in a few days, nor had he eaten well, or slept well for that matter. His eyes trailed to the clock on his bedroom wall, a small sigh leaving his lips as he turned onto his side. It'd been two years since Sherlock had supposedly 'died' after jumping from Hospital. He had to watch his best friend and colleague, John Watson, watch on in disbelief. The memories of that day always made a shudder go down Sherlock's spine. Yet here he was, alive, and healthy...sort of. He'd stayed cooped up in a flat that was about four buildings down from 221B, his old home. For days he tried to think of ways that he would return to the old flat, and to see John. Sherlock remembers listening to him when he visited his grave, the words 'just for me' hit him in the face like a train. 

_"I was so alone...and I owe you so much. But please, there's just one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me, don't be...dead. Would you do that just for me? Just stop it. Stop this..."_

Sherlock turned on his back as a single tear fell from his eye and down his cheek. Never had he felt such guilt in his life, he felt it everyday as he heard from either Mrs Hudson or his brother Mycroft that John was still a mess. He didn't mean to cause such harm to him, but, he saved his life did he not? Moriarty had men set up, ready to kill everyone who was so dear to the detective. Sherlock could not risk it, so that's why he jumped, because he couldn't handle the thought of people he adored being dead, that was not who he was. Although he hid himself well, inside Sherlock was a time bomb waiting to explode, his emotions were eating him from the inside, slowly rising to the surface. The only time he ever cracked was before he jumped, the way his voice broke when he talked to John on the phone. Sherlock sat up in his bed, bringing his knees up to his chest and he rested a hand under his chin.

_"I'm a fake," _

_ "Sherlock…" _

_"The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson and Molly; in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you… that I invented Moriarty for my own purposes," _

_"Okay, shut up, Sherlock. Shut up. The first time we met - the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?"_

Another tear fell as he shuddered slightly, remembering what he had said, and what John's last words were.

_"Nobody could be that clever," _

_"You could..."_

The memory was enough to make him break again, not just one tear, more like hundreds, thousands. He couldn't handle it any longer, all the guilt, the pain he caused people, the mistakes and the doubts...everything. Sherlock let out an aggravated cry as he threw an empty mug at the opposite wall, his hands clenched into fists as the tears kept falling.

"John will you ever forgive me," he whispered, resting his head in his arms.

"Sherlock," a gentle voice spoke.

The detective lifted his head, while wiping away the tears as he put his gaze upon Mrs Hudson.

"Mrs Hudson, it's 4am, why are you here so early?" he questioned, wrapping himself the bed sheets.

"Just wanted to check up on you dear, thought I might bring you breakfast. How are you feeling Sherlock?" she asked, walking into the room.

"I'm...average Mrs Hudson, how is...John?" Sherlock asked, a guilty tone in his voice.

"As per usual love, hasn't had a wink of sleep, very unresponsive. When will you be coming back? He gets more distant every day," Mrs Hudson replied.

"Very soon," Sherlock replied.

Mrs Hudson nodded as she took Sherlock's hand, giving it a small pat before leaving the room, the apartment door closing quietly behind her. Sherlock sighed heavily as he curled back under the covers, resting his head on his pillow before closing his eyes. Perhaps a few more hours of sleep would be useful to him.

"I'll be home soon John, I promise," he whispered, before drifting into a peaceful slumber.

_"You... you told me once... that you weren't a hero. Umm... There were times I didn't even think you were human, but let me tell you this. You were the best man, the most human... human being that I've ever known and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, so... there,"_

John sighed heavily, his eyes opening slightly as he gazed around the dull apartment. He can't recall the last time he heard silence, not good silence, sad silence...lonely and afraid. His neck was aching slightly from falling asleep awkwardly in his seat. It had been two years and John, was still grieving. He mourned for his best friend, the one who kept him absolutely sane at the worst of times. Even though he thought of Sherlock as a slight pain in the backside, he made him laugh, smile and feel worth in life. Now that seemed to be a thing of the past. He'd visited Sherlock's grave every week until he couldn't handle it anymore.

_"Sherlock, for me, don't be...dead,"_

Tears were brimming on the edge of his eyelids, yet he held them back. He'd cried enough in the two years he suffered the lose of Sherlock. He hardly left 221B, thinking people would look at him, question him or talk about him as he walked by. Mrs Hudson had been kind enough to look after him, but for her he was somewhat pushing his luck now.

"John, you have to move at some point love," she spoke as she entered the room.

It was just past 9am and John had no intention of moving, he never did. His sleeping pattern was all over the joint, his eating habits turned from decent meals, to small meals and then soon nothing, maybe just a snack here and there.

"I'm fine Mrs Hudson," he muttered, picking up his book from the floor.

Mrs Hudson sighed briefly before nipping into the kitchen to make John some tea. John looked across at the window where Sherlock used to stand, composing and playing music. He missed the sweet, sombre music that the young detective played, for John it was calming.

"Here's your tea dear," Mrs Hudson issued, setting the tea onto the table.

"Thank you," John replied quietly. She smiled, yet John smiled back half heartedly, he had no reason to smile.

He wishes Sherlock was here to make everything better, to sooth the ache in his heart, to make him smile again. The thoughts were enough to make John shudder slightly, a gasp leaving his mouth as he covered his eyes. He was suddenly having a flashback of that day Sherlock jumped.

_John watched on as Sherlock threw away his phone after hanging up on him. He spread his arms wide as he looked down at the street below, John's eyes meeting his. John remembers mouthing the words 'please don't, Sherlock.' But it was far too late for anything, Sherlock had thrown himself off St Barts, his coat flying up slightly. Then the thud of Sherlock's body on the ground below, as John stared in disbelief, shock, running to his best friend yelling..._

"No," John gasped, as he shook his head slightly.

_"Sherlock!"_

"Stop!" John yelled, the tears spilling from his eyes. 

_Then there was the blood, a pool of crimson blood, Sherlock's. That's when John had been hit by a passing cyclist, dazing him until he reached Sherlock. His hand went to Sherlock's as he put his finger's on Sherlock's wrist, no pulse..._

"Argh Sherlock why have you done this to me!" John roared, throwing his cup of tea across the room.

"John? John is every alright up there!" Mrs Hudson called.

John didn't answer as he dropped to his knees, picking up pieces of the cup that flew back his way. The tears dripped down his face, his shoulder's shuddering as he gasped for some air. He heard footsteps behind him as Mrs Hudson knelt down to help him.

"John," she whispered.

The doctor shook his head as he put down the pieces of glass and sobbed even louder, his hands over his face.

"I just want him back," he cried, biting his lip with such force it almost bled.

Mrs Hudson placed her arm on John's and gave it a comforting squeeze.

"I know you do love," she soothed. "Now go and clean yourself up, I'll fix this mess, you haven't had a shower in days, maybe go get some fresh air," she added.

John finally gave in as he stumbled to his feet before leaving the room as he climbed the stairs to the bathroom. As he entered his bedroom he looked around the tidy room as he hadn't slept in there since Sherlock died. He walked over to the small desk in the room, opening the drawer as he pulled out his gun, the one he used to kill the cabbie that nearly killed Sherlock before he ran away. But still, Sherlock knew it was him who had done it. The thoughts of Sherlock once again brought on a new set of tears as John held the gun to his chest, closing his eyes.

_"Don't John,"_

His eyes snapped open as he gazed around the room, hearing that familiar voice again.

"Sherlock?" he mumbled.

Nothing.

"Dammit," John cursed, looking down at the gun again.

_"John, please,"_

John dropped the gun back on the desk, turning away from the desk. He knew the voice was just in his head, yet it felt all too real. He turned back to his desk again as he sat down, grabbing pen and paper from the drawer.

"I'm sorry Sherlock, I promised, but I can't," John whispered.

That was when he started writing a letter...one he would most likely regret.

It was just past noon when Sherlock decided it was time to go. He couldn't wait any longer, hearing of John's suffering brought him to a stand still in his hiding. He'd made a phone call to Mrs Hudson that he was coming over shortly, to which she said she would make sure John was preoccupied with something else. Sherlock reached into the antique wardrobe, taking his coat off the rack as he shrugged it on, turning the collar up. He turned and grabbed the blue scarf on his bed, wrapping it around his neck as he smiled contently at the feeling of his normal clothes again.

"I was getting quite tired of those track pants," he mumbled.

He slipped his gloves on before looking over himself in the mirror, fluffing his hair slightly. With one last glance, Sherlock was making his way down the stairs, grabbing an umbrella from the stand. Luckily it was raining outside, giving him a little more camouflage as he made his way to 221B Baker Street. Sherlock stepped out of the apartment, locking the door behind him as he flared the umbrealla out.

"Right," he huffed, walking down the wet stairs as he made his way down the street.

People passed him by, barely taking any notice as they tried to get out of the rain. Sherlock was preparing for at least one person to notice him, yet it never happened. He was relieved as some of the water splashed inside his shoes and he cursed to himself. Upon reaching the flat he knocked on the door, waiting outside as the rain started to get slightly heavier. The door swung open as Mrs Hudson stood with a note in her hand.

"Sherlock, it's John," she spoke with slight break in her voice.

Sherlock stepped into the apartment as Mrs Hudson gave him the note and he began to read it, his heart sinking at every word.

_"Dear Mrs Hudson, _

_Thank you for your hospitality, I couldn't have done it without you. I've gone for a walk somewhere, but I do not think I will be back. I am so sorry. I left this months rent in an envelope in the kitchen for you, I hope it will be enough. _

_The reason why I am writing this is because I'm not coping. Ever since Sherlock left our lives I haven't been able to think straight. It sounds silly but before he jumped from St Barts, I wish I'd told him how I truly felt. But there has to be a reason as to why he jumped, there has to be. But I can't live with pain any longer. _

_Forgive me Mrs Hudson. _

_And Sherlock, I'm sorry. I'll see you soon, I hope. _

_Look after yourself Mrs Hudson. _

_Kind Regards Dr. John Watson."_

Sherlock read over it again as he shook his head in disbelief and fear. 'How I truly felt,' what did he mean? And where was he?

"Dammit John!" Sherlock yelled, throwing the note down.

"What's wrong Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"This is a suicide note Mrs Hudson, a suicide note!" he exclaimed, a crack in his voice as a tear formed in his eye.

"Oh Sherlock, where will he be?" she cried, covering her mouth with her hand.

Sherlock shook his head as he closed his eyes and went into his 'mind palace.'

"Come on John, where are you," he grumbled.

The detective recalled some words from the note, spinning them around in his head.

_Walk _

_Jumped_

Sherlock's eyes flew open as he turned to Mrs Hudson.

"I know where he is!" he yelled.

"Where?" she asked with worry.

"I can't explain, I have to go before it's too late, stay here Mrs Hudson," he ordered, running out of the room.

He thundered down the stairs as he flung the door open before running out to the streets. It was still raining slightly, yet he had no time to catch a cab, this was urgent. Sherlock started to run down the street to St Barts, weaving through people, not caring that the rain was drenching him.

"Please don't be too late," he cursed, running as fast as he could.

John walked into the lobby of St Barts as he made his way up the stairs. He was trying his best to go unrecognised as he searched for the door which led to the roof. He kept contemplating in his head whether this would be a good thing or not. But, the pain and mourning was getting too much for him. Why not get rid of it?

"John?" a voice spoke. He turned around to see Molly poking her head out a room, giving him a raised eyebrow.

"Hello Molly," he replied, with a small smile.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I, uh...some of S-Sherlock's stuff was left here, I came to get it," he mumbled.

"Oh right," Molly replied, her face softening a little. "How are you holding up?" she questioned.

John merely shrugged as he slipped his hands into his pockets.

"I've been much better Molly, believe me," he sighed.

Molly looked at John, a look of sympathy on her face as she walked over to him and gave him a quick hug.

"Just, don't do anything silly, John, I'll let you be on your way," she whispered, before turning away.

John watched Molly disappear as he sighed deeply, turning around as he climbed another set of stairs, turned down a corridor and then walked up to the roof of . His mind was telling him to stop, but it seems his body had all the control.

_"Forgive me Sherlock,"_

Several streets later, Sherlock was standing outside , flashbacks burning in his mind as he shook then off. He ran up the stairs as he burst through the doors, several people gasping as he stood there.

"Where's Molly?" he questioned.

No one answered.

"Where's Molly!" he yelled.

A young man pointed up a flight of stairs as Sherlock ran to them, bounding up them as he reached a room, peering inside. Sure enough, Molly was inside, sitting by a microscope and taking notes.

"Molly, where's John?" he questioned, bursting into the room.

Molly jumped from her seat as she looked over at Sherlock, her eyes widening slightly.

"I thought you weren't coming out for a few days?" she replied.

"I know, but Molly this is important, John left a suicide note, where is he?" Sherlock asked with a raise in his tone.

"He said he was coming here to collect some of your leftover stuff," Molly mumbled.

"Molly don't be ridiculous my stuff I have all of it at ho-" he stopped short as he turned round.

"Sherlock?" Molly whispered.

"He's up on the roof, Molly, he's on the roof! I'm sorry I need to hurry!" Sherlock yelled, dashing out of the room.

He clambered up the stairs, turning down the hallway John had been down and then climbed up the stairs as he opened the door out onto the roof. There he stood, his feet placed on the edge of the building, back turned to Sherlock, small sobs escaping his lips.

"John stop!" Sherlock yelled.

John tensed as he dropped his hands to his side.

"No it's all in your head John," he whispered.

"John," Sherlock spoke again.

He turned as he locked eyes with Sherlock, his heart lurching in his chest.

"Sherlock?" he gasped.

Sherlock stepped forward, slipping his hands into his pockets as he neared John.

"It's me John," he whispered. John started to shake his head, the wind blowing his jacket back slightly.

"No, no...Sherlock you're dead, this is just a dream, I'm dreaming," he sobbed.

"No John, this is real," Sherlock answered, reaching out to grab John's arm.

John gasped as he felt the gentle touch of the detective's hand on his arm. His mind started reeling and tears started to fall like buckets of rain.

"How?" he sobbed.

"I'll explain myself later, just, hop off the edge, please," Sherlock pleaded.

John looked at his best friend, noticing a tear sliding down his face. Never in his life had he seen Sherlock cry, he always kept it hidden from people. John suddenly felt anger boiling inside him.

"Two years Sherlock. Two years I thought you were gone and you weren't!" he yelled.

"I know John, but I-" John cut Sherlock off.

"Don't give me your excuses Sherlock! I've grieved for two years, and for what? Nothing? Because you're alive!" he cried, pulling his arm from Sherlock's grip.

Suddenly John's foot slipped, losing his balance as he fell back.

"John!" Sherlock's voice rang in his ear.

Sherlock lunged forward as his hand wrapped around John's wrist, gripping tightly as John hung from the side of the building.

"Why Sherlock? Why did you do all this?" John sobbed, looking up at him.

"Because I-" Sherlock choked as another tear slid down his cheek. "Because I love you!" he roared as his hand gripped tighter on John's wrist.

John's eyes widened as he locked eyes with Sherlock again. He never thought he'd hear Sherlock say anything like that. Never in his life, Sherlock always said he was married to his work. John felt Sherlock's other hand grip onto his shoulder as the detective hoisted the doctor up onto the ledge, pulling him away from the edge.

"Don't you ever do that again John," Sherlock warned.

Without uttering another word, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, bringing him into an embrace. John started to cry again as he put his arms around Sherlock, gripping to his slightly damp coat.

"I'm sorry Sherlock," he whispered.

"It's alright John, I'm here now, it'll be alright," Sherlock soothed.

John felt Sherlock's body shudder as he placed his hand in Sherlock's damp brown curls and ran his hand through them, soothing the detective.

"Don't leave me for so long next time," John muttered into the crook of Sherlock's neck.

"I promise," he sighed, pulling away from John.

"Sherlock..." John wavered.

"Hmm?" Sherlock hummed.

"I-I love you too," John replied. Sherlock gave him one of his lopsided smiles, his eye crinkles showing slightly as he cupped his hand under John's chin.

"I thought you always said you were married to your work," John mumbled.

"John, you are part of my work, I will always adore you more than anything else. I hid it, yes, but I was afraid. I'm unaware of relationships. However, I'll make it work, for us," Sherlock explained.

John sighed happily as Sherlock brushed his lips against John's before pressing their lips together in a sweet, short yet passionate kiss.

_"I love you Sherlock Holmes," _

_"And I love you, Dr John Watson," _


	2. Happy Birthday Sherlock Holmes

_**~ It's Sherlock's birthday, not that he takes much notice. John wants to surprise him with a party, thinking he can somehow make the detective see how important he is. However, something gets in the way of how Sherlock reacts to the situation, causing tension between the pair until Sherlock makes a shocking confession. ~**__  
_  
Birthday; a day that comes once a year in a person's life, where they celebrate the anniversary of their birth. For most, it is a day filled with laughs, gifts and parties. Yet for one, Sherlock Holmes, it was simply another normal day. The young detective didn't hate his birthday, just a slight distaste for the entire concept behind such a day. His robe flowed behind him as he paced irritably around the flat's small lounge room. He'd solved a case only a few hours previous to now, yet something was still bothering him. It then hit him suddenly as he clapped his hands together.

"John doesn't know I despise my birthday," he mumbled, resting his fingertips on his chin.

Thoughts played in Sherlock's mind, trying to think of how he could escape all the attention. As if on cue, John had appeared at the bottom of the stairs from his bedroom.

"Good morning John," Sherlock spoke in a monotone.

"Morning Sher," he huffed, yawning with a stretch as his shirt lifted ever so slightly.

Sherlock averted his eyes from the young doctor, staring outside the lounge room window momentarily.

"I understand it's someone's special day," John mumbled from inside the kitchen.

The detective sighed slightly, turning around to face John again.

"Now John, I don't want a huge fuss, I'm not particularly fond of my birthday, to me it's a pointless day, all I'm doing is getting a year older," Sherlock explained with slight annoyance.

"I know," John replied half-heartedly.

"Liar," Sherlock huffed.

John turned his head to look at the detective, his best friend to be more exact.

"I beg your pardon?" he grumbled, furrowing his eyebrows slightly.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, crinkles becoming more prominent the more he narrowed them.

"You're lying John Watson. You want to make a fuss and shower me with gifts and a cake,perhaps, a party with close friends," he muttered, moving behind John.

"Don't be ridiculous Sherlock," the doctor laughed nervously.

In truth, John had planned everything for Sherlock's birthday, two days prior to today, he wanted Sherlock to see just how special he really is.

"I'm not. I can tell by the way your shoulders tensed when I called you a liar. You also refrained from making eye contact with me which suggests, a liar. Oh and another thing, you left your planner by the coffee table and I couldn't help but notice you had circled today's date and wrote 'Sherlock's Birthday' in the middle. I hardly call that not making a fuss," Sherlock whispered against John's neck, making his hair stand up on end.

"Alright Sherlock, you got me with your bloody deducing. But what is the problem? Are you frightened? Anxious? Confused?" John questioned, pouring tea into two cups.

"Neither," Sherlock replied, moving away from John. "I just simply despise my birthday," he added, placing himself down in his seat.

John sighed as he brought the tea out of the kitchen and sat a cup on the table, opposite Sherlock.

"Well, Happy Birthday none the less," he muttered.

Sherlock placed his hands under his chin, his eyes locked with John's.

"I suppose I should thank you, so thank you John," he drawled in his usual monotone voice before averting his gaze.

John rolled his eyes, grabbing the newspaper as he unfolded it, blocking Sherlock out entirely. Sherlock grumbled slightly as he shuffled in his chair, John barely moving a muscle. The detective groaned in irritability, turning his whole body around. His legs were now hanging over the back of the chair and his head rested at the other end. He finally gave out a loud huff as John dropped the newspaper, glaring at him.

"Sherlock what on earth are you doing?" he asked.

"Bored," the detective replied with a sigh.

"Well go find something to do, a case or something," John mumbled.

"No, too much effort right now," Sherlock whined, tapping his finger on his lips. "Actually," he spoke, turning himself back again. "I might nip over to for a couple of hours," he added.

"Great, well, off you go and get dressed," John replied with a small smile.

Sherlock disappeared upstairs, only to appear moments later as he slipped his coat on, wrapping his navy blue scarf around his neck. He looked over at John who still sat in his chair, reading the paper.

"Are you not coming?" Sherlock asked with a slightly annoyed tone.

"No I'm quite fine here, you go and enjoy yourself," John hummed.

Sherlock stared at him briefly before turning around.

"Alright, goodbye then, see you later," the detective replied.

John watched as he left, thinking he may have heard a slight bit of hurt in Sherlock's voice as John usually went with him. Perhaps he was only day dreaming. As soon as John heard the front door click her went upstairs to get changed before walking into the kitchen. He pulled a cook book from a shelf and flicked to the cakes section.

"Right, let's get this party in order then," he spoke with a smirk.

**~~~*~~~**

Hours later everything was set up for Sherlock's surprise party. Molly offered to bring Sherlock home from so it gave John more time to get everything perfect. Lestrade, Mrs Hudson and even Sherlock's brother Mycroft arrived early so they were here to yell surprise when Sherlock turned up.

"John that cake looks lovely," Mrs Hudson spoke as she appeared in the kitchen.

John turned his head to smile at her as he placed some piping hot food on the table.

"Thank you, I just want to make his birthday a special one this year," he mumbled.

"I know dear, now clean yourself up, he'll be here soon," Mrs Hudson ordered, leaving the kitchen.

"He's here!" Lestrade yelled.

"Dammit," John cursed as he quickly scrubbed his hands and wiped them on a dish towel before heading into the lounge room.

"Mycroft, the lights," Mrs Hudson whispered.

Mycroft nodded slightly before flicking the switch, the room subjecting itself to darkness. John heard the front door open and close as footsteps padded up the stairs.

"I don't understand why you're following me up Molly, there's no need," Sherlock's voice grumbled.

The footsteps stopped as the light filtered into the room.

"Surprise!" we yelled.

Sherlock stood motionless before looking around the room, then momentarily at the guests. John could sense something was wrong until he saw Sherlock's mouth twitch.

"What a wonderful surprise!" he exclaimed, a lopsided smile spreading on his face.

John couldn't tell if the detective was bluffing but it certainly didn't look like it. Molly took Sherlock's coat and scarf as he went to his guests to thank them. He finally turned to John, making absolute eye contact with him, and only him.

"John," he spoke. "You did this?" he asked, placing his hands behind his back.

"Yes, all of it," John replied with a soft smile.

Sherlock nodded as he walked over to the doctor, pulling him in for a warm embrace.

"I need to speak to you in the kitchen right this instant," he whispered before pulling away.

The tone of his voice made John's heart sink slightly. Was this where Sherlock called him out, telling him he didn't want a fuss and how ridiculous it was?

"Alright, um everyone make yourselves comfortable, Sherlock and I just need a moment," John wavered, biting his lip slightly.

The guests nodded as they stayed at the far end of the room, away from the kitchen. Sherlock went first as he lent against the table, his arms crossed defensively over his chest. John followed as he stood opposite Sherlock.

"John," he spoke in a monotone.

John lifted his head to stare into the bright blue orbs that were Sherlock's.

"What did I say about this? I clearly stated, I wanted no fuss," he continued.

"Sherlock, I-I just wanted to surprise you and make you feel important," the doctor replied with a shaky voice.

Sherlock stared at his best friend across from him, anazlyzing him. The young detective stepped forward, placing his hand on the counter by John's left side. He certainly didn't have a clue about personal space, yet John never spoke about it.

"Yes, I can tell," he murmured.

John could sense more decuding on its way.

"Judging by the smell of fresh food you've been here for a good few hours. Your flustered cheeks tell me you've been in front of that oven frantically cooking meals without any assistance. I also couldn't help but notice the stray pieces of icing sugar on your sleeve which could lead me to think that," Sherlock paused, swiping the icing sugar from John's sweater. "Baking a cake was also on your agenda. It all occured to me slightly as Molly stalled us for over an hour at . You also didn't flick the light switch quick enough as I found it strange that they turned off as I arrived, however I did notice Lestrade by the window," he continued, breath lingering near John's face.

"Are you quite finished?" John asked, with slight hurt in his voice.

"No, I finally noticed the cheap decorations that you'd obviously asked Mrs Hudson to buy as she always tries to spend less. Judging by all your effort, you did it for nothing as I simply requested none of this yet you went and did it," Sherlock mumbled, tilting his head slightly.

John felt as if his entire chest had just ripped open. He was usually used to Sherlock's deducing, yet this time it was more than upsetting.

"John," Sherlock hummed, still staring at the doctor and still standing close.

Without thinking John's hand connected with Sherlock's cheek, slapping him aggressively as the detective flinched slightly.

"You bastard!" John exclaimed, pushing Sherlock away.

John rushed into the lounge room, grabbing his jacket as he stumbled down the stairs and walked out of the flat, slamming the door. The detective stood in disbelief as he walked out to the lounge room, nursing his throbbing cheek.

"Sherlock," Mrs Hudson spoke with slight annoyance.

"What?" he replied.

"What did you do?" she questioned.

"I deduced his efforts for this surprise party, telling him it was all too obvious and the decorations were cheap," Sherlock answered.

There was silence before Molly began shaking Sherlock by the shoulders.

"Oh Sherlock you idiot! John went to all this hassle just for you, just for your special day. Can't you see he cares about you, now go and bloody find him!" she yelled as she stopped shaking the detective.

"But," Sherlock stopped abruptly.

"Sherlock," Molly grumbled with a scowl.

"Alright, alright where's my coat?" he asked.

Molly handed it to Sherlock as he slipped it on before tying his scarf, feeling like he was having deja vu as he looked at everyone.

"I may be gone a while, help yourself to food and cake then you may go home," Sherlock instructed before disappearing down the stairs.

He opened the door of 221B as he stepped out into the crisp, cool air of London.

"Now to find John," he huffed, walking down the street in search of his companion.

**~~~*~~~**

Sherlock had traipsed around the streets of London for hours. He was beginning to give up hope on finding John. The detective couldn't help but feel absolutely guilty for what he said. Regardless of his lack of emotion it seemed that John Watson had broken a certain wall inside Sherlock. He sighed heavily as he stopped at the end of yet another street.

"Where are you John?" he huffed, looking around his surroundings.

Sherlock stopped abruptly as he saw a familiar figure sitting on a bence in the park across from the detective. John looked frozen, his arms were tightly grasped around his body but it didn't seem to be working. The detective checked the roads before crossing and walking into the park. His shoes crunched against the frosty leaves, the wind blowing his coat back behind him. He reached John, momentarily staring at him before clearing his throat. The doctor looked up, shivering slightly as his eyebrows furrowed at the sight of Sherlock.

"Mind if I join you?" the detective questioned.

John gave only a slight mumble as Sherlock sat himself down, his hands resting in his pockets. There was a great deal of silence as neither men said anything, they simply thought. Sherlock soon realised it should be him talking first, yet he slipped his warm coat off first.

"Here, you need it more than me," he issued, resting it on John's shoulders.

"Piss off," John huffed with a scowl.

The detective had never seen his best friend so angry with him before. There were times where they both ticked each other off, yet they never ended like this.

"John," Sherlock sighed, rubbing his hands together.

"Don't even speak Sherlock, I'm angry with you," he grumbled, pulling Sherlock's coat tighter around him as he slowly stopped shivering.

"I can tell, but John, I-" Sherlock paused briefly, his fingertips placed under his chin. "Let me explain," he added, turning his gaze to meet John's.

John was silent before he nodded, looking away from his dear friend Sherlock Holmes.

"John, I know you care about me and that is exactly why you did all this preparation for my birthday. I realise I've hurt you slightly and I am so very sorry," Sherlock spoke.

John opened his mouth to speak but Sherlock held his hand up as he met John's eyes again.

"You're probably wondering why I didn't want all the fuss John. Usually I would go along with a surprise party, but not this year as it has only recently occured to me that the only thing I wanted to do on my birthday was to spend it with a certain someone. I've been thinking and I realised something has been eating away at me inside and it just happens to be my feelings for a certain John Watson," Sherlock explained with a slight lopsided grin.

"M-me?" John stammered.

He began to get flustered as the pounding in his chest started up again. John was slightly confused by now, he didn't exactly know what Sherlock meant, he suspected the detective was bluffing again.

"I don't understand what you mean Sherlock," the doctor wavered.

Sherlock gave out a prolonged sigh as he shuffled closer to John, feeling the warmth bounce off him.

"It's fairly simple John. You appear to have cracked something inside me, or perhaps broken down a wall, so to speak. To put it easier for you. I, uh," Sherlock's words faultered as he became flustered at what he was about to do.

"Well, spit it out," John replied, eagerly watching his best friend before him.

Sherlock huffed again as he turned his body slightly to face John.

"I, Sherlock Holmes," he wavered. "Am telling you, John Watson," he continued, his hand resting on John's cheek.

John's breathing hitched at Sherlock's touch as the detective grinned again.

"Go on," John mumbled.

"I am completely and hopelessy in love with you," Sherlock answered, his gaze locking with John's once again.

"Sher-" he stopped as Sherlock hushed him.

Without another word Sherlock ever so gently connected his lips with John's as the doctor's eyes widened slightly before slowly dropping closed. He relished the moment, unwilling to believe that it was real, despite it feeling completely real. Sherlock's lips parted ways with John's as they pressed softly against his neck and John shuddered. Being slightly mischievious as he is, Sherlock pinched John's jaw line gently with his teeth.

"Sherlock!" John shrieked as he pushed the detective away.

Sherlock's body trembled as he burst into fits of laughter, slowly followed by John joining in on the hilartiy. They slowly settled down before the pair stared longingly into each other's eyes.

"Is everything you say true?" John questioned.

Sherlock's hands clasped onto John's as he brushed his lips delicately along the doctor's knuckles.

"Of course it's true you fool," Sherlock chuckled. "You've honestly brought out the other side of me John," he added.

"That being?" John asked.

"The loving and well...tender, caring side of me," Sherlock hummed, brushing his thumb along John's fingers.

John smirked as he shrugged Sherlock's coat off of himself, handing it back to the detective.

"You're freezing now, I suggest we go back to the flat," he replied.

Sherlock nodded in approval, slipping his coat back on.

"I'm assuming everyone would have left," John sighed.

"That's a good thing," Sherlock replied, standing up from the bench. "It means I get my birthday wish of spending all the time I can get, with you," he added.

John felt himself blush again as Sherlock wrapped him up in his arms, the doctor's face burying into the detective's chest.

"I'm sorry for upsetting you John," Sherlock whispered.

"It's alright Sherlock," John mumbled, pulling away. "Just, Happy Birthday, again, and sorry for slapping you," he chuckled, kissing Sherlock's cheek.

Sherlock gave John another one of his lopsided smiles as his eyes crinkled slightly in happiness.

"Now let's get home before we bloody well freeze," he ordered.

John let out a laugh as he and Sherlock left the park as they made their way back to 221B Baker Street. The detective smirked as he found his hand inches from John's, lacing his fingers through the doctor's as he gave it a gentle squeeze. John and Sherlock exchanged glances as they smiled before turning around a corner and disappearing into the night.

_The detective and his doctor, his best friend, his lover.  
_  
**A/N: I was actually baking a cake while I watched Sherlock and this idea popped into my head. **


	3. Dear Sherlock

_**~ One bullet, can change everything. One bullet, means death. A tragedy one shot where Sherlock loses someone most important to him, making him feel emotions he has never felt before. ~**_

August 13th 2013, consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes and retired army doctor, John Watson were on the beginning of a case which had baffled both of them. A number of threats were being sent to Sherlock, timed to arrive at exactly 8pm every night. At first Sherlock had thought it was a simple prank, it wasn't until one threat contained secret coding, warning him that John was going to get harmed if he remained with him. The detective tried to persuade John that it wasn't safe, John however refused to leave Sherlock's side.

At exactly 8pm on September 5th, Sherlock and John came face to face with the man behind the threats. Neither had expected it, both had thought they'd dealt with the consulting criminal a few months back. They were wrong, he was back, back for more blood thirst, more revenge. Before them stood none other than Professor James 'Jim' Moriarty, that sinister smirk plastered on his face. Sherlock had dealt with him once before, back when John had bombs strapped to a jacket by the pool. Now here they were in an alleyway, unaware of Moriarty's motives.

"I warned you Sherlock," he spoke, venom filling his tone.

"What is it you want from us Moriarty?" Sherlock questioned, his hand gripped tightly around his gun which sat by his side.

"My, my Sherlock. You have no clue do you? I want you...to feel pain. You've never felt pain, have you? Have you!" Moriarty spat.

"Nowhere near as much as John has," the detective replied, finger resting on the trigger.

"How sweet, always thinking of John. Always putting him first before yourself...before anyone else!" the criminal growled. "You mightn't have noticed, but...your dear friend tried to be rather naughty and sneak around, but believe me, he hasn't gotten very far," Moriarty continued in a sing song voice.

Sherlock's heart began to pound in his chest as he looked across the other side of the alleyway, seeing the red dot against John's chest. His gaze darted upwards as he caught the sniper leaning over the ledge of the building, finger rested on the trigger.

"One small move and you're friend is as good as dead," Moriarty hissed.

"John, don't you dare move!" Sherlock yelled.

"But Sher-" John stopped as Sherlock interjected.

"Just do as I say!" the detective roared, a slight break in his voice.

Fear, it was showing on Sherlock, on his face, his body language, his voice...his eyes. Moriarty simply laughed at the sight, that maniacal laugh Sherlock thought he'd never hear pierce his ears again. John was using every ounce of his strength to remain calm, but seeing Sherlock's fear, it tore him apart.

"Sherlock," he wavered, his eyes watering slightly.

"John...please, don't move, you're not almost dying again on me," Sherlock whispered.

"Nearly dying? Oh Sherlock! You amuse me!" Moriarty laughed.

"Shut up!" the detective yelled, raising his gun as he aimed it at Moriarty's head.

"Ah-ah-ah, I wouldn't do that if I were you Sherlock. Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked with a small smirk.

"You wouldn't shoot him, you know my motives," Sherlock spat.

"Oh won't I?" Moriarty whispered. "Do you think so Mr Holmes..." he continued, his features becoming less readable.

Sherlock had thought he'd cracked the criminals plans once again, like he'd always thought he did. With one simple flick of Moriarty's hand, a gun shot rang through the alleyway, piercing Sherlock's ears as he covered them. His heart pounded so loud he could hear it in his eardrums, the blood running from his face as he slowly turned. There on the cold, wet pavement lay his best friend, surrounded by a pool of blood, lifeless...dead.

"John," Sherlock gasped. "JOHN!" he roared, racing down to the army doctor, dropping to his knees.

"Sweet dreams Sherlock," Moriarty sang out, disappearing into the dark, his laughter fading.

"John, oh god no, John. Please. Please, please, please don't do this to me. John!" Sherlock yelled, cradling his friend in his arms, blood seeping onto his hand.

Silence. Complete and utter silence. Sherlock's shoulders trembled as his eyes brimmed with tears, small laboured gasps leaving his mouth.

"JOHN!" Sherlock cried, forehead resting on John's, the distant sound of sirens in the distance.

* * *

The violin, an instrument of many emotions. Right now, mourning...for John Hamish Watson, much loved friend, son and brother. Sherlock stood upon the steps of the church, violin in hand, playing a tune he wished he'd never had to compose. He had tried so very hard to save John that night, even though all hope was minimal, he tried, and failed. Moriarty was laying low, yet despite Sherlock and Scotland Yard's attempts at finding him, they had proved unsuccessful.

Sherlock never wanted this, this pain, this fear...this loss. John was his best friend, no...more than that, Sherlock loved him. He was far too afraid to say anything to John, now he was far too late. As the final note was played, a single tear fell down his cheek, the other mourners wiping their eyes with tissues. The consulting detective handed his violin to Molly, who pulled him into a quick embrace, before walking back down the stairs.

Mycroft, Greg and four officers of Scotland Yard appeared at the doors of the church, the casket rested on their shoulders. Sherlock's lips pulled into a thin line as he gazed at the casket which held his best friend. He closed his eyes briefly, before opening them again as he approached the casket. The detective swapped places with an officer, resting the casket on his shoulder as he held it with all the energy he had, tears streaming down his face.

"Forgive me John," he whispered, beginning the walk to the grave.

Mourners followed close behind as they passed other graves, Sherlock's eyes focused ahead of him. He'd never felt so much guilt, he blamed himself for John's death and no matter how many times people told him it was not his fault, he pushed it away.

_**"His blood was on my hands! I could have saved him!"**_

Sherlock shook the flashback away, the argument he'd had with Molly the night John died. She'd tried her best to convince Sherlock, proving unsuccessful.

"Sherlock? Sherlock," Mycroft's voice interjected.

"Yes, Mycroft?" he replied, a slight choke in his tone.

"We're here," his brother replied with a soft tone.

The detective's heart sank as he gazed upon the grave that had been dug for John. The headstone engraved with his name that stood out the most.

_**"In loving memory of John Hamish Watson**_

_**Loving son, brother and best friend.**_

_**September 5th, 2013"**_

Sherlock lowered the casket as they placed it by the grave, his shoulder straining slightly as more tears brimmed in his eyes. He stepped away as he looked at the headstone, suddenly becoming rather light headed.

"Easy Sherlock," Greg whispered, holding Sherlock up.

"I'm so sorry John," he sobbed.

Sherlock's knees buckled from under him as he fell to the ground, not caring in the slightest that the ground was wet and muddy from the rain. Greg knelt down beside him, his arm wrapped comfortingly around the detective as Molly stood before the grave, throwing in flowers as the casket was placed inside. More people walked over, throwing flowers, their sobs muffled behind tissues.

Mrs Hudson needed help from Molly as she couldn't bear the thought, she was shaken as much as Sherlock. Although nothing could compare to the pain Sherlock was feeling. He thought he'd had Moriarty, yet this time his judgement was incorrect, Moriarty had killed his best friend yet Sherlock knew damn well it was him who initiated it. What was he going to do?

"Sherlock it's your turn," Molly spoke with a small choked sob as she knelt down in front of the detective.

She handed Sherlock a deep red rose with a small ribbon wrapped around it. Molly knew all along about how Sherlock felt for John, she knew he loved him. She was sure John had felt the same.

"Thank you Molly," Sherlock whispered, standing up as he walked slowly to the grave.

Thunder clapped in the sky as rain began to pour, some people putting up umbrellas. Someone had offered one to Sherlock, but he refused. His eyes gazed at the rose as the rain soaked his hair, droplets masking the tears that fell from his eyes.

"You're resting at peace now John. I wish it didn't have to be this way. I miss you, so much. I love you John Watson," Sherlock cried, throwing the rose into the grave as it fell onto the top of the casket. "I won't forget you," he whispered.

* * *

"Sherlock, love...do you want some tea?" Mrs Hudson asked, walking out of the kitchen.

"No thank you Mrs Hudson," he replied with a monotone, staring out the window, rain still pelting down.

After the funeral and the burial, a few close friends and family returned to 221B Baker Street to pay their respects to John. Sherlock just wanted to be alone, his heart had a hole in it and his mind was swimming with thoughts. He'd received far more hugs than he'd ever had in his life, some of it was becoming too much.

"Sherlock," a voice spoke.

The detective looked to his right as he saw Molly sitting beside him. She looked around the room for a moment before looking back at Sherlock.

"I have to show you this. It was in John's room when we cleaned it out," she whispered.

Sherlock sat up as Molly handed him a black leather journal, a clip centred in the middle of it.

"Can I be left alone for a moment?" Sherlock asked, earning a nod from Molly.

He swallowed the lump in his throat as he stood up from the couch, passing through people as he disappeared up to John's empty room. The only thing left there was the desk, the bed and the wardrobe. Sherlock sat down on the bed as he clicked the lock open, flicking through the pages. They were all blank? Sherlock raised an eyebrow when suddenly he came across a page with writing on it.

_Dear Sherlock_

_I wish I could tell you how I feel. Every night when we have dinner together I feel like telling you. Every moment we spend together I feel like kissing the living hell out of you. I wish I wasn't so nervous when it came to you. You have no idea how you make me feel Sherlock. Then again, you are married to your work, aren't you? Where am I in the picture? Just your best friend really...your blogger._

_Dammit Sherlock there's so many things I wish I could say right to your face but I can't. There's a list of things about you that I love. And I think I'll write most of them down on paper. I'm going to sound like an old sap, but truth is Sherlock...I love you. And this is what I love about you._

_1. Your eyes_

_2. Your smile_

_3. Your deductions_

_4. Your soft hair_

_5. Your intelligence_

_6. Your humour_

_7. Your bravery_

_8. Your laugh_

_9. Your maturity_

_10. Your immaturity_

_11. Your experiments_

_12. Your knowledge_

_13. Your detective skills_

_14. You_

_Don't you dare say none of these things are good, believe me, they are. Maybe one day I will tell you how I feel Mr Sherlock Holmes. But for now, I suppose I will just stay by your side, as your friend, your best friend._

_Much love_

_John. H. Watson._

Sherlock's body started to quiver as he closed the journal, tears forming in his eyes again. A choked sob left his lips as he dropped to the floor, clutching the journal to his chest. What John had wrote, finally made him crack.

"Oh John," he cried.

For once in his life, Sherlock was speechless. He was heartbroken. He was...lost without John.


End file.
